


Hope In A State of Misery

by Marasa



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Addiction, Anxiety, Cocaine, Cop AU, Crying, Depression, Getting Help, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attack, Police AU, Recovery, Referenced Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts, loitering, police officer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:30:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marasa/pseuds/Marasa
Summary: He steps into the damp alleyway and finds that it is absent of blood and needles.There is only a broken looking man with dyed red hair leaning against the brick wall, looking down at his shoes.





	Hope In A State of Misery

Tyler answers to a complaint of a ‘ _druggie punk loitering in the alley beside the convenience store on Elm.’_

He can’t help but frown at the wording of the official statement from the owner of said store when he hears it over the radio but he's only a few blocks away, so he's there in five minutes.

Tyler parks his patrol car in the parking lot, gives a wave to the disgruntled owner behind the glass and walks around to the dark alleyway on the side of the store carefully, unsure what he’ll be met with.

The unknown is kinda scary.

This area isn't all that great and the dark alley does nothing to reassure him that what is waiting for him may be unwanted violence. A scene of someone shooting up or smoking at the very least.

He steps into the damp alleyway and finds that it is absent of blood and needles.

There is only a broken looking man with dyed red hair leaning against the brick wall, looking down at his shoes.

“Hello.”

The man whips his head up.

“My name’s Tyler and I’m with the Columbus Police. How are you doing today, sir?”

He doesn’t get an answer of how he is, but if his frightened demeanor and the bags under his eyes are any indication, he’s not doing all that great.

The officer comes closer and only then does he notice just how bad the the man is shaking. He’s curling in on himself, his pupils unnaturally wide.

“What’s your name?” Tyler asks.

“J-J-Josh,” he stammers, fear lacing his weak voice.

“Josh what?”

“D-Dun. Josh Dun.”

He looks to be the same age as Tyler, but it’s obvious their paths in life are very different.

Tyler comes closer. Josh flinches from him.

“I- I’m not high, sir,” Josh rambles suddenly in a flow of words that breaks like a dam. “I don’t do drugs, sir. I’m not in trouble because I’m not high. Y-You can’t arrest me because I’m not high.”

Tyler furrows his brow. “So your pupils are always that big?”

Josh fumbles. “W-Well, I-”

“I’m answering a call of loitering, Josh, not a call concerning drugs,” Tyler sighs. “But you do realize your comment has given me cause to ask about drug use and search you for any illegal substances, right?”

Josh’s whole face scrunches up in deep regret and panic. He fists a hand in the hair at the front of his head, pulling almost too hard.

It makes Tyler wince.

“Are you under the influence right now, Josh?”

“N-No.”

Tyler looks at him. “I’m gonna remind you that lying to a police officer is a crime and now I’m going to ask you again: are you high right now?”

Josh looks to the ground. He continues to pull at his hair until it brings a light film of tears to his eyes.

“I’m a little high,” he murmurs. “Just a little.”

“On what?”

“Speed. Cocaine.”

The officer is honestly surprised the man is talking so openly with him. He’s so used to side-stepping and violent cussing, sometimes spitting.

He gets death threats about twenty times a week and he only really deals with calls of loitering and those he catches speeding.

He's not big time stuff. He doesn't really want to be.

But Josh is answering his questions honestly. If Tyler didn’t know any better, he’d think Josh actually does want to talk.

The red-haired man bites his chapped bottom lip. He blinks hard. He’s still shaking.

Tyler decides Josh’s openness sounds suspiciously like a cry for help.

“What are you doing here, Josh?” Tyler asks. “Are you waiting for someone? Selling? Buying? Needed a quick bump?”

Josh bites the inside of his cheek and refuses to make eye contact. Tyler doesn’t request it; the other man looks like he’d fall to pieces if he so much as looked at a police officer in the eyes.

“Just...needed to get away,” he whispers so quietly, Tyler almost almost misses it.

His tone worries Tyler. It’s eerily familiar.

“Get away from what?”

“Don’t feel...safe at home.”

Josh bites his lip hard.

“Why’s that, Josh?” Tyler’s voice is incredibly gentle. “Why don’t you feel safe?”

Josh doesn’t answer. He looks away and continues to bite his lip until the skin busts. He looks tired, upset.

Tyler’s heart races in sick realization when he registers a look of pure hopelessness in Josh’s downtrodden expression. Officer or not, Tyler suddenly wants nothing more than to hold him because he recognizes that dreadful look.

He knows exactly what that feels like.

He knows what it is to feel not safe with yourself.

Depression had never been a foreign feeling for Tyler as he struggled with it all his life but not even three years ago, it had gotten really bad.

He would sleep on park benches on particularly bad nights because there was nothing to hurt himself in a public park. At home was a different story.

He would spend too much time in the bathroom staring at razors, too much time in the kitchen staring at knives in the drawer.

Those thoughts only stopped when he started delving into his passion of playing and writing music, around the same time he applied to the police academy.

It was good for him to create and to protect. It gave him purpose. Some days were still hard but he was better prepared to address those feelings of hopelessness.

But the pain he wore at the very worst of it is the same pain Tyler can see reflected in Josh’s blown eyes right now.

It brings him to step just a little closer, not to intimidate, _never_ to intimidate, but to simply be closer to him when he so obviously needs someone.

“Do you have drugs on your person?” Tyler asks next, trying to stay focused. “I need to know before we talk about anything else.”

Josh finally looks at him. He makes no move to answer.

“If there are drugs on your person, that’s considered a felony because drug possession is a felony, do you understand?” Tyler says calmly. “Are there drugs on you person, Joshua?”

Josh’s bloody lips tremble. He goes to answer but stops himself. Tears well up in his eyes and he’s suddenly breaking.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry!”

Tyler stares with wide eyes as Josh cries and fists at his dry, red hair hard enough that a few strands tear from his scalp.

“I knew this would happen, I knew it! Fuck! FUCK!”

Josh is heaving, choking, losing it.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore; sir, please believe me, this isn’t me, sir, I promise you," Josh rambles. "I don’t want to do any of this anymore. It makes me sick but then I’m sick without it. It never ends and I'm so tired. I want help. I _need_ help. It makes me hate myself. I hate who I am. I fucking hate myself, I hate myself, I hate that I’m so sick, fuck!”

Tyler stands frozen as Josh hiccups and stumbles over his broken breath, hot tears falling liberally from his eyes. Tyler’s chest aches at the heartbreaking sincerity in the man’s voice.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Josh,” Tyler says, quiet, careful. “You’re cooperating with me, you're having a truthful discussion with me, and I appreciate your honesty so much. Don’t think I’m going to hurt you; you’re completely safe. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Joshua.”

Josh is still panicked.

He struggles to breathe, hands flapping discreetly at his sides in panic at his inability to get a full breath into his lungs.

“Hey, Josh, hey,” Tyler whispers soothingly, and although he’d love to hold his bicep and stroke his arm with a steady thumb, he dares not touch him because he knows it would have the opposite effect on the upset man.

“We’re going to breathe together, okay?” Tyler says. “In for seven, out for seven. Let’s breathe, here we go.”

Tyler inhales steadily. Josh whines during his own rushed inhale.

“Good. Out for seven.”

Josh tries but his attempt is pathetic. Tyler is more than patient.

“Nothing is more important to me right now than your well being, Josh. We’re gonna keep breathing until you’ve calmed down,” Tyler says. “In...out, good. Again. You’re doing so well, Josh. Take your time.”

Tyler isn’t as impatient as the other cops at his precinct.

He knows they would have given up a long time ago and handcuffed this ‘ _druggie punk_ ’ to save themselves the headache, but the empathy Tyler feels for Josh is too much to ever consider doing that to him.

He’s not the type to ever subject someone to humiliation or any kind of violence.

It’s counterproductive.

It’s harmful.

It’s inhumane to not listen and not offer genuine compassion to those that are frightened and so obviously hurting.

Josh simply needs someone to listen and Tyler is more than willing.

Josh finds his breath after eight whole minutes. Tyler gives him a soft smile.

“It’s okay,” Tyler whispers. Josh nods shakily.

For a moment he’s hesitant, but then he slowly reaches into his jacket pocket and reveals a small baggie of white powder. He holds it between two fingers like he has serious contempt for the contents inside.

“Now, Josh,” Tyler says carefully, “I want you to drop it on the ground.”

Josh’s brow twitches in confusion.

“Trust me.”

Josh gives a mirthless chuckle. “I’ve never trusted a cop before. Ever.”

“You can trust me, Josh,” Tyler says. “Now please drop the drugs on the ground.”

The bag hits the dirty pavement between them.

“That cocaine is not on your person,” Tyler says, eyes never leaving Josh’s as the bag sits in his periphery. “I can’t prove it was on your person, so I can’t arrest you on a felony.”

“B-But you just saw me-”

“I didn’t see anything, Josh.”

The red-haired man pauses. He glances to the ground at the drugs and the trouble he is now free from. He looks back to Tyler and nods vehemently.

“Were you serious about getting help?”

Josh blinks.

“You said you wanted help,” Tyler says. “You said you needed it. Were you serious?”

Josh swallows roughly, scared, determined. “I don’t want to live like this anymore. I can’t. I don’t have it in me. The drugs will kill me if I don’t kill myself first.”

They stand in silence. They stare at each other.

Josh channels his intense pain through his gaze and Tyler tries his best to take it all. He can’t alleviate it, but he can accept it and show Josh that he is not at all alone.

The officer looks down the alley. No one passes, no one is watching.

In one swift movement, Tyler kicks the baggie of white powder behind the trash cans beside them.

“Josh,” Tyler says as he looks back at him, “I’m not going to fine you for loitering and I’m not going to arrest you, but I want to take you to get the help you want. I know a clinic that will help you today, right now. If you’re ready for this, I can take you.”

Josh looks mildly panicked again, but there’s something else that shines in his eyes that overpowers every doubt within him that wants to keep him in a state of misery.

“I’m ready, sir.”

“Tyler,” Tyler says, because not one of them is better than the other.

“Tyler,” Josh says, because they’re both equals.

Before they leave the darkness of the alley, they share a mutual look of softness that can only end in a careful hug.

It’s a little awkward at first, Josh smelling a little unpleasant and Tyler’s uniform a little bulky, but it feels right to finally hold each other.

In Josh’s grip, there is thankfulness and gratitude. In Tyler’s, there’s compassion and respect.

“Thank you,” Josh whispers against his shoulder. “Thank you so much.”

No judgment, no violence, no hate. Simply understanding, acceptance, strength.

Two strangers hold each other in an alleyway.

There’s hope there.

 


End file.
